


The Last Thing On My Mind

by blenalela



Series: we make do - Generation Kill Modern AU [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern Era, nate as a lawyer, soft bradnate, they have a cat, what q-tip's show has caused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 06:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21441805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blenalela/pseuds/blenalela
Summary: As much as he wanted it to be forgotten, Nate’s past always found a way of coming back to him. This time, it was all thanks to Q-Tip and his stupid show.He doesn’t want anything to do with it all anymore, his life as a lawyer together with Brad is all he needs nowadays. Or is it?
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Nate Fick
Series: we make do - Generation Kill Modern AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538074
Kudos: 12





	1. The Last Thing

**Author's Note:**

> To completely understand this fic you should have read 'Radio Screwby'
> 
> I hope I didn't fuck their characters up too much

  1. _ The Last Thing _

“So, what is your opinion on this, Nathaniel?”

After five years of working together he surely would’ve had to get used to his superiors calling him that after agreeing on using their first names. However, apart from his parents and grandparents, no one ever called him that. ‘Nathaniel’. It might’ve been his name, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he used it.

He silently vowed to never let Ray get wind of it or else that chaotic idiot would never let him live in peace again.

“Nathaniel? We’re waiting on you.”

Nate snapped back to reality and looked at the file being projected on the wall. It was the case of one of the city’s biggest estate companies scamming their tenants with horrendous rents and close to no maintenance. Hundreds of tenants had filed this lawsuit and Nate’s employer had gladly taken the case on him. Why shouldn’t he? “Lawson & Baker” was one of the most renowned law practices out there, making loss seem almost impossible. Which was naturally all thanks to its lawyers, men and women like Nate, or Charles who was looking at his colleague with a sour expression right now.

Charles wasn’t making a secret out of his antipathy for Nate. The man had been with the firm for over twelve years and ever since Nate had won his first case and got little by little swapped with his elder colleague, he was getting less friendly and more abrasive with him.

And while the man’s behavior really got Nate’s goat, thankfully, the man was the only one of his otherwise actually nice colleagues he had a problem with and frankly, the man was well over sixty, so not long and Nate would finally have his peace.

“Well, Charles, I would suggest to see if other tenants beside the ones who first filed this lawsuit have the same problems with Wilkes. From there on, we can gather as much witnesses, proves and photographs as we need to fully support these charges. If we’d go to court solely based on those few complaints in comparison to the thousands of tenants Wilkes has, we’d simply lose. I’m assured of this.”

Judging from the bitter expression on Charles’ face, Nate had been absolutely right with his evaluation.

“Right, Nathaniel, we should do this. Does anybody else have something to say on the topic?”

The remaining three lawyers in the conference room shook their heads.

“Then let’s talk about this tomorrow in more detail. Goodbye.” With that, the gaunt man left the conference room.

“Hey, Nate, do you have a moment?”

He turned around to look at Darcy who was smiling at him from behind.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Have you tuned in to Radio Screwby yesterday? The DJ played a song and the singer’s voice somewhat reminded me of yours. Don’t tell me you’re the singer of that Broadway song! You should’ve totally gone with that instead of this here!”

Nate felt cold anger rise up in his chest while listening to her. Sure, Darcy wasn’t trying to be mean or anything, she was simply in awe, but he had long stopped singing and he had told Stafford so often not to play him on his goddamn show.

His past as an aspiring singer and songwriter had long been gone and he was all but eager to revive it. Charles walked by, a disapproving look plastered on his face as always and mumbled something about how unprofessional it was for _Nathaniel_ to have had such silly dreams like that (No, he didn’t know if Darcy was right. He just assumed. The more dirt on Nate, the merrier).

What the elder didn’t know, he really hit a nerve with that statement, so his constant bullying on the side actually hit Nate for the first time.

“I think you must confuse me with someone else.” A bad, a very bad lie, but his best option at the moment to evade any further conversation on this topic.

“Really? I thought it was you.” Darcy’s shoulders slumped. “Well, see you tomorrow.”

Darcy may have been an amazing lawyer, but sometimes she wasn’t the brightest and right now, Nate was only benefitting from it.

But the thought of suing Stafford became more prominently on his mind and he really contemplated the thought of signing those papers. Much to his friend’s legal safety, his phone buzzing in his coat pocket made the idea dissipate in his mind. Hastily, he pulled it out and looked at the notification. It was a text from Brad.

_Ray’s invited himself for dinner_

_20:41 p. m._

During the whole car ride home, Nate silently prayed for Ray to be gone when he arrived, but as soon as he opened the front door, the younger one’s loud voice echoed through the hall over to him.

“Just, can you believe he did that to me? He played Nate, though Nate doesn’t even want it, but he ignores my glorious mix tape? And I call that fucker one of my best companions?”

“Ray, seriously, no one needs to hear your white trash trailer park yodeling hick voice screaming nonsense into a microphone that sounds like someone’s skinning a cat alive while a wannabe metal band shreds their innocent instruments in the background. Nate on the other hand does in fact know how to use his voice so that it actually sounds very good.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love your moral support, you Hebrew motherfucker?”

Nate cleared his throat and stepped into the open living room, still wearing his coat, scarf and shoes. He gave them a curt smile before striding through the hallway into his and Brad’s bedroom. As soon as he arrived there, he threw coat and scarf onto the chair next to their shared wardrobe. Then he sank down on the huge bed, giving their cat Frosty a little pat on the head who, until now, had been the sole emperor of the king size bed and was less than thrilled to share it now (Frosty was more in love with Brad, no one really knew why).

As soon as the grey striped cat had left, Nate let his body fall back and collide with the deep blue sheets before he closed his eyes and just concentrated on his breathing for a while. He could hear Brad usher Ray out of their flat, the latter going on and on about how he would now have to starve to death for the night and that he wanted to play scrabble with Nate (for the record, Ray sucked at scrabble, but that was to no one’s surprise. Nate used to say that he had his qualities and he was by far not a dumb man, but scrabble wasn’t his strength).

Shortly after the front door was slammed shut with a forceful push and Nate heard the lock click, the door to their bedroom was opened and Frosty let out a little meow, purring while being picked up by Brad and carried back over to the bed. Nate felt them coming close, Brad’s heavy steps on the carpet before he slumped down on the bed next to him. Not too long after, Brad’s arm slung around his body, pulling him close. The ‘Iceman’, a nickname he got from his comrades, nestled his face into Nate’s hair and pressed soft kisses to his head. Frosty nestled in at the headboard, his purring being the only sound to fill the room for the time being.

“What’s wrong?” Brad whispered, still peppering his head with little kisses.

Nate loved how his super intimidating, cold boyfriend turned into a huge mellow softie whenever they were alone. He loved that this side of Brad’s only belonged to him and him alone. Slowly, Nate moved himself so that he could face Brad and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. Afterwards, he slung his arms around him, let his head roll against Brad’s chest and closed his eyes. He sighed and snuggled a bit closer, seeking the warmth and comfort of his boyfriend’s body.

“I take it you don’t want to talk about it?”

Nate sighed again and moved a bit closer so that every inch of their bodies touched. Then he shrugged and rolled back onto his back. Brad let go of him and also turned to stare up at the ceiling.

“Just the normal work stuff.”

An understanding hum left Brad’s throat. His fingers searched for Nate’s hand and he started playing with it before taking hold of it and giving it a comforting squeeze. He didn’t believe what his boyfriend had just told him, but he wasn’t one to pry either. So he just settled on taking his word and leaving the topic alone until Nate decided to tell him more about it. It was kind of their silent agreement to never force the other to say out loud what was on their mind. They rolled pretty well with it and this wasn’t meant to keep secrets from one another but to be able to sort their thoughts first before discussing whatever it was.

Nate sat up with a jerk and searched for Brad’s icy blue eyes. Frosty hissed at him and jumped off the bed, following Brad.

“What are you doing?”

The blond shot him a teasing smile and went for the door while saying “I’m gonna go and take care of dinner. You just relax. I’ll call you.”

As soon as the door had closed behind Brad, Nate fell back onto the bed. After lying there for about five minutes looking like a stranded whale he got up again and walked over to one of the many coat racks, the one he kept his “home-clothes” on (their wardrobe had no doors, so everyone could look into it, see the racks and cases they kept their stuff). Brad just had his clothes thrown randomly at the two he occupied, Nate had divided his into stuff for the office and stuff for at home.

He pulled a pair of sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt down from it and exchanged his rater uncomfortable jeans and button-up with them. While hanging his clothes of the day back up, his gaze fell on his guitar standing in the corner behind the wardrobe. He hadn’t played it in a long time, yet he exactly knew the notes to songs he used to play often and how to play them. Carefully, he grabbed its neck and pulled it out of its place. It was dusty, and judging by the many cobwebs in and around it, in the time he hadn’t played it, it had become home to dozens of spiders. Yet not a single one crawled out of the body, so maybe they had already moved to another place. Apart from the dirt that was occupying his guitar, it looked completely fine. Not a single string was torn, they simply had to be readjusted a little.

He took it with him over to the bed, sat down on the corner and gently placed the guitar on his lap. Then he put his fingers on the strings, carefully strumming various chords before a song entered his mind, longing to be played.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes in order to fully concentrate on getting the notes right, his fingers started dancing over the strings. It felt like he was thrown back in time, back to when he was new to the city, back to when he followed the dreams every boy from the country had: to make it big, though his vision of ‘making it big’ was like chasing a dream, not seeking a real job. He’d never forget his father’s disappointed look when he told his parents he’d leave to pursue a career as a musician or his mother’s tears when she feared for him to fall into the abyss because of not making it.

And just after a few months here, he vowed to end this silly chase after an unreal dream. He enrolled in law school and started working at Lawson & Baker the same year he and Brad started dating. In all those years he never once touched his guitar or let a single song slip out of his mouth. And thanks to Q-Tip and his stupid idea he was all reminded again of what once was his life. All these memories he locked deep within him came crashing back in, his heart started aching for the time he stopped himself from doing what he loved.

Brad had been right all the time, when he told him to start playing again. Just as a hobby on the side. But he never believed him, Nate always said he never wanted to play again.

And now here he was, softly singing while playing his guitar which had done so much for him in the last years and which he neglected so easily after all. He got caught up so much in what he was doing, finally feeling complete again after such a long time.

At first Brad thought that the neighbors had yet again turned the volume of their music so loud they were listening with them, or maybe Nate had turned on one of the country vinyls Walt had gotten them for Christmas, maybe as a way of cheering himself up by annoying Brad. It took him until he was halfway through the bowl of peppers he was cutting into small pieces that he realized the noise came neither from next door nor from the speakers attached to the record player. It came from their bedroom.

And as he concentrated on the soft music, he could clearly make out Nate’s voice softly accompanying the low guitar playing. He snorted and took the next pepper out of the bowl and continued on with his work. Sure, it was great that Nate finally got his head out of his ass to give his life another go, but he could hear him just fine from here. No need to go creeping up to the bedroom, since Nate had had a long day at the firm and surely was hungry. Taking this into consideration, Brad was best here at the counter, chopping peppers and listening from afar.

(Never would the Iceman admit that he thoroughly enjoined Nate’s play. No, he couldn’t, especially not if there was the possibility of Ray Person in the vicinity of their apartment with a high chance of just barging in (Giving him and Walt the spare key was the poorest decision he and Nate had ever made. This was proven by the one time they thought a burglar had come into their space, only to find Ray sitting at the kitchen table, high on Ripped Fuel, crying into a jar of peanut butter going on and on about how he bought said jar for Walt though Walt was allergic to peanuts at 3 a. m. Later they found out that the jar was actually theirs, not Ray’s, and that Ray had come home from a ‘band rehearsal’ late at night after downing a couple too many drinks and he was in the firm belief of being at his flat instead of his best friends’. All in all, it had been an unforgettable night).

Nate didn’t know how long he sat there and lost himself to the music again, but when the soft sizzling of pans from the kitchen mixed with the smell of grilled vegetables reached him, he stopped abruptly, staring down at the instrument in his hands. It had been so easy, just giving back into his self-indulgent hobby, carelessly letting his hands fly over the strings, his vocal chords taking over his mind to let himself get swallowed by the tunes again.

What had become of his oath to never let it come to that ever again? He had vowed to leave the music in his past, after all it had done. The damage it had caused and the thorn he had thriven in between him and his parents.

No, for Nate Fick, music had become hell, the heaven being overtaken by the devil. As if he had burned himself holding his guitar, he quickly pulled his hands away from it as he placed it back to where it had come from.

Quickly wiping his hands on his pants, he walked over to the door in three huge strides and made his way over to the kitchen.

Even if Brad had heard him, he didn’t show it. Throughout dinner, they simply held the usual small talk, Nate talking a bit more about the new case his employer took on and Charles being Charles while Brad started complaining about one of his students either being a Ray (a stupid, brain dead idiot with close to no common sense on the outside, a hidden gem with the intelligence of Einstein on the inside) or simply a failed human being waiting for natural segregation. Sometimes Nate wondered why the hell Brad only had such remarkably weird people in his classes, then he reminded him of Brad’s friends group and he thought of it as some sort of karma.

It was good falling into meaningless chit-chat with Brad after a long day of discussions about cases and falling back into old patterns. It kind of made everything feel normal again, like Q-Tip’s stupid show never had happened.

And right now, lying on the couch, his head propped up on Brad’s chest, hearing his heart beat and feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath he took, he felt his inner, peaceful balance come back. Curled up into Brad’s left side was Frosty, soundly purring while being caressed by Nate (yes, at times the cat tolerated Nate’s hand as the one touching him).

With his boyfriend carefully running his hand through his short blond hair and a silly TV-show playing in the background, he let his eyes flutter shut and give into the sweet dreams waiting for him just around the corner.

(Much to Frosty’s dismay who now had a limp hand resting on his round belly.)


	2. On My Mind

_ _ _ On My Mind  _

The sun shone through the steel blue curtains, tingling Nate’s eyes. Scrunching his nose, he opened up his eyes, but closed them rather quick again, as the sunlight blinded him. Next to him, Brad was still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. One of his arms was slung around Nate’s waist, holding him close to him, not willing to let go. He had buried his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck and was now snoring soundly into his ear.

Nate let his hand wander slowly from Brad’s exposed stomach over his chest up to his cheek, softly caressing the light skin while watching him sleep. As his hand tenderly cupped his face, his blue eyes fluttered open and the taller blond tightened his grip around Nate.

“Morning” Brad mumbled, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead.

Nate smiled, winding his body up a few centimeters, to look eye to eye with Brad and engaging him in a deep kiss. Brad slowly pulled him on top of him, sliding his hands under Nate’s t-shirt while never breaking apart from him.

While their kiss heated up more and more, a loud bang coming from the hallway made all what could have happened get lost. Especially after Ray’s obnoxious voice could be heard echoing through the whole apartment: “Walt and I brought Bagels!”

With a deep sigh, Nate climbed off of Brad and the bed, almost stepping on top of Frosty, who threw an accusing meow his way, and put on the same pair of sweatpants he wore the day before. Brad had closed his eyes again and pinched his nose; it looked like he was suffering from a maddening headache. Nate went back over to the bed, kissing his forehead, before leaving their bedroom to deal with the intruders a. k. a. the people who should never have gotten the spare key.

“All I’m saying is that I’m seriously jealous.” Ray opened up, his voice grave and concerned.

Walt buried his face in his hands, propping his elbows up on the counter and let out a deep and tired sigh. Nate frowned and put his coffee mug up to his lips. Their all favorite intruder looked alternately at every other person, waiting for one of them to ask him what his problem was now.

Nate looked at Brad through the corner of his eye, implicitly telling him to go ask Person so that the man could go off onto another rant about whatever the hell it was now. Last Saturday, it had been doormats. (“Why don’t you have a ‘Welcome!’ doormat? It would make your flat look a lot friendlier and probably would give you a better image, Brad.” – “Ray, shut the fuck up.” – “I’m just sayin’.” – “Not everybody needs to give their trailer park landfill dumpster apartment a better look with a doormat which solely makes it look like a sorry excuse for not taking care of their home.” – “Don’t take it personal, Walt.” – “I’m used to it, Nate.” – “Way to insult Walt’s interior design skills!” – “Ray, you decorated the flat, not me.” – Afterwards Ray had dissolved into a speech about the importance of doormats and why every home should have at least two (one outside the door, the other inside) and that they said a lot about the owner’s personality; thus Brad had no personality, since Nate would surely appreciate a doormat. On Monday, they received a package from Ray, containing a ‘Live, Love, Laugh’ – doormat which Brad threw in the trash the minute he opened it.)

Nate subtly rammed his elbow into Brad’s side, making him let out a (neither manly, nor icemanly) squeak that he covered immediately by a sigh and an annoyed sounding “What is it, Ray?”

Theatrically inhaling, the self-acclaimed musician put his hand on his heart and began: “Another record company has rejected us.” He made a small, artistic pause. “Said we don’t have the required talent, or, for that matter, skills. We should rather get back to our day-to-day jobs.”

“Now that is really nothing new, Ray. You all know you suck. And this doesn’t explain what you’re jealous of.” Brad said, averting his attention from Ray back to his bagel.

Walt let out another sigh and now buried his face in his arms, lying on the table.

“That is where the jealousy starts! We didn’t get a record deal!”

A tormented “He has been going on about this for the past five days and I really wish he would stop” came from Walt’s scrambled figure.

“You see, we don’t have the talent, but we have the motivation to become famous. We want a big breakthrough, but we don’t get it. Yet other people have talent for days but don’t use it! Any idea who I might be referring to?”

No one even thought about engaging in conversation with him, they all knew it stop sooner if they ignored his rants.

“I’m talking to about you Nate!”

Nate froze, his lips touching the heated porcelain of his mug just as he was about to take another swig.

“So I came up with a new idea: why don’t you join us as a singer? You know, with you, we might even have a chance, so what do you – “

“Never even think about this bullshit again.”

Nate slammed the mug with force onto the table and left for the shared bedroom.

“Ray, Nate often defends your brain capacity, but right now, your IQ is nearing the negative realm.”

“I told you it was a bad idea.”

“Don’t act like you’re my parents! He’s sounding like he’s given a lot of soul to his songs back then and why wouldn’t he want to get this vibe back?”

“Even if he did, he wouldn’t even think about joining your piece of shit band for a second.”

“Oh come on, Brad! We’re not that bad!”

“Yes, you are.”

“Walt! How could you turn against me too?”

“Because you’re an idiot. Come on, it’s time to go.”

“Without Scrabble?”

“Yes, without Scrabble. Brad, tell Nate I’m sorry and that he’s going to apologize as soon as I make him think.”

The front door shut, accompanied by loud bickering from Ray.

_The subway station was cold. No matter how many people flooded through, no matter how hard he tried to stay warm, Nate started to freeze after a maximum of two and a half hours. The colder he got, the more complicated it became for him to play his guitar. More mistakes happened, and it stopped sounding as effortlessly as it used to be. He couldn’t wear gloves. At least not the ones covering his hands all the way to his fingertips; he couldn’t play with them on. So he cut off the fingers on his pair, in an attempt to be capable of warming his palms, but it never worked. His whole body started to cool down, making it hard for him to even sing. He would kill for a cup of coffee, or tea, or whatever there was when it came to warm beverages. But the little cup standing in front of him was as good as empty. No money to buy himself something as unnecessary as a cup of coffee. His salary was just enough to pay for the rent on his little one-room-apartment. Sure, he was simply the voice behind one of the local theaters best actor. He couldn’t sing; not wanting to have to throw him out of the production, they found Nate, a lone man on the street, guitar in hand, trying to attract the masses with his voice to hopefully make it big one day. They practically coaxed him into agreeing on this awful contract: he sung the lines, the actor lip-synced, and it should never be known that he was the charming singer. _

_It was a miracle that no one came behind the lie, as Nate was still singing on the streets, his hopes shrinking by the minute. His wage was barely enough for him to exist, he desperately needed the money he got from strangers complimenting his music. His parents didn’t support him; they stopped doing so when he quit home to come here. Their concerns had been right: Nate wasn’t made for the broad world of widely known musicians. He was too ordinary, he didn’t look outstanding, he didn’t sound outstanding, he was average. An average young man with far too great expectations of life. That he knew now. _

_He needed to get out of this hell he had gotten himself into. This was not the life he wanted, it hadn’t been his plan to get taken advantage of like this. His dream was to be the one in the spotlight, not the stand-in._

_The road was officially ending here, it had been a dead-end from the beginning and now he had to turn around and get back to the last intersection, look for a new path to follow which would not end like this right here._

_He finished his song and while packing his things up, the smell of coffee got even more prominent in his nose, making his insides knot together with an urgent plea to heat them up once again. A sigh escaped his lips as he tried to close the clasps of his guitar’s case with trembling hands when all of a sudden a steaming plastic cup was held into his field of view. As his eyes trailed up the arm holding the cup, he was met with the sight of a tall, blond man with eyes as cold as ice._

_“You need help?” he asked, voice devoid of emotion. He reminded Nate of an iceman, a man made entirely of ice, inside and out. There was no reason for him to help him. And yet Nate thankfully took the cup and confided his worries in him._

_From then on, Nate chose the right road to follow in his life. The music disappeared more and more, since what he had once loved so dearly with all of his heart had brought him nothing more than misery. He went to law school, like he had once thought of in his youth and thus was taken back into the family by his parents (which would have happened anyway sooner or later, they would never throw their only son out of the family; they would always love him, no matter what) and in the end, the iceman, Brad, and him fell in love. _

_Nate had found his place in life with him, nothing would take it from him. _

_And the music would remain buried deep within the past, it wouldn’t get another chance to ruin him._

Nate stared at his guitar. It simply sat there, in its rightful corner, innocently and patiently waiting. Nate felt it calling him, pleading him to come back to it, play another song, and maybe another and another. Nate felt anger rise in him. His guitar had no business to be so nonchalant after everything it had done. His favorite thing would be to simply smash it against the tiles in the living room.

He sighed and buried his face in his hands. This was silly; the fucking guitar wasn’t alive, nothing of it had ever been its fault, only his. But after all this time, the numb feeling in his chest that wouldn’t disappear and kept on growing… He finally understood what it meant. His heart longed for the music, for what had once been such an important piece of Nate, that wasn’t able to just be forgotten.

Maybe it hadn’t been meant to be his life, but what was the problem with it being just a small part? A hobby, something he did once in a while.

After all, wasn’t it his stupid dream that had brought him and Brad together? If he hadn’t stood there in the subway station, Brad would have never bought him that coffee. They would have never started talking.

If it hadn’t been for his stupid dream of becoming a famous musician, he would have never found the love of his life (as cheesy as that sounded).

A small smile stretched over his lips as he walked over to his guitar. It was time to become whole again and get a bit of the old Nate back and let the stiff lawyer Nate be a little more laid back.

He gently placed it in his lap again and let his hands flow over the strings. It may not sound as good as it had a few years ago, but to him, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. His smile grew even wider when Brad entered the room, giving him the ‘I told you so’ – face before sitting down next to him, looping his arm around Nate’s shoulders.

And to be honest, it was the best fucking feeling in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading

**Author's Note:**

> Title: The Last Thing On My Mind - Stark Sands and The Punch Brothers


End file.
